Memory Is Not
by MonsterBrat
Summary: [KxL, sort of] Sixty years after the series, Knives waits for Vash to wake up and reflects. Though in the end, he’s no wiser than he started.


**Disclaimer:** If I owned Trigun, it'd be rated a lot higher. But I don't. Yet.

**Summary**: 60 years after the series, Knives comes to a realization in a room in December. And then Vash wakes up.

**Memory Is Not**

The thought is slow in coming. In fact, it takes well over sixty years, slowly welling into the surface of his mind, filling up the cracks. Knives is sitting at the window, watching his twin sleep in the left-most bed in their room, muttering something under his breath. The name, long forgotten by both, is the one that triggers it.  
  
Sleep addled, whining about donuts and a contest for something or other, and the name just slips out, easy as anything. "...Wolfwood, that's mine..."  
  
Wolfwood. He hadn't remembered, until now. Just some human who was a disappointment once. Ad yet, he's in his brother's dreams.  
  
Vash never talks about that, about the fact that Knives had his friend killed, had a lot of people killed, in fact. In general, he says "Anyone can fix their mistakes," and leaves it at that. Knives knows he's forgiven, knows his brother doesn't hold a grudge because of the way Vash looks at him now, that honest to god trust. He had missed it, when it went away after SEEDS.  
  
And still, that name, even after sixty years, it's a memory. Strangely enough Knives doesn't actually remember Wolfwood except as the new Chapel- in-training. He can barely recall a glimpse of him, in Legato's mind. To him, the human is unreal, a sort of abstract idea of Vash-cared-for-him-I- did-wrong-Legato-was-suspicious. He can't muster up enough knowledge of him to even be sorry.  
  
The memory of Wolfwood lives on, in his mind, as a scene from far, far away.  
  
_Legato, bowing deeply as usual, talks about Chapel. He says the spy is taking too long, is messing around, maybe it would be best to dispose of him? He's becoming too attached to Vash-sama._  
  
The memory of Wolfwood is a memory of Legato, sixty years old. Blue hair and gold eyes. That broken, obsessed thing that was his mind. A coat that's made to keep dirty humans away. Absolute devotion. Trusting loyalty that was the exact opposite of Vash.  
  
Knives is surprised that the memory stings. He looks out into December, their current city of choice, and thinks; _Legato is dead_. That thought, he realizes, took a long time coming. Sixty years, and he can tell it's not completely sunken in.  
  
Legato...the name brings more memories than Wolfwood, certainly. Many of them are of his hair. Knives had liked that color, it reminded him of the perfect blue of the sky in the Rec. Room, a golden childhood when he still had Vash. There is also a memory of eyes, larger, younger, but still jaded and incomplete, looking up at him with blind adoration. That adoration had slowly tapered off into obscure depths, becoming only evident in his voice, in his manner, in his mind. The memory, however, is pleasing. A reminiscence of his mind, too, a calm, serene presence that left Knives itching with humanity. A place to store feelings that only master would ever access, Legato's mind was always welcoming and simple to use, with none of the stray thoughts, impulses, musings of other humans. It was the reason he never bothered with speaking to anyone else.  
  
The memories are old. They're not damaged, Knives remembers everything with an almost photographic perfection, but the sense of time between then and now is telling in itself. There is a distance there that, when he thinks about it, is uncomfortable. It would be simple, he thinks, to have Legato here so they wouldn't have to do all the mundane things humans do. Laundry, food, repairs. Knives remembers a time when everything was silently and efficiently done, a calm voice asking what and when he wished to eat, would he like anything? Is there anything that could be done? Yes, Vash was coming. Of course, immediately. Only a moment. Please let Legato help, master.  
  
He also remembers the silently smiling, weak looking human huddled against the wall. Large tears of blood trailing down his cheeks. These days, the thought is beginning to be a sad one, although it wasn't before. Knives is not sorry for the deaths he caused. Humans are pitiful and weak and pathetic, whether one thinks of them as alive or not. He is sorry for hurting Vash, for letting him go and get broken into pieces that had to be sewn back together with metal stitches. He should have taken care of his brother, the way he swore he would, before Vash had run away. Strangely enough, he thinks it would have been better if he had taken care of Legato, too.  
  
Maybe then everything would be easier now.  
  
Missing a human is pathetic, but here he is. Knives hates himself for it, can never forgive himself for it, but the thought remains. _Maybe if I had told him to stay, if I hadn't hurt him, had pretended to care for him, he wouldn't be dead now._ He knows there's no maybe, but it's comforting to think that he didn't shoot Legato himself. He doesn't remember ever feeling more than disgust for the human, but thinking of it now, after having spent sixty lonely years with Vash amongst these sick little creatures, feeling mind after disgusting mind brushing against his, he thinks of Legato's calm, unobtrusive presence and misses it with a vengeance.  
  
He never realized just how bad humans were until he started living amongst them. Maybe if he'd known earlier, he would have realized that Legato was...  
  
Legato was...  
  
December in the summer is such a boring sight. It's close to dawn but everyone is sleeping. Knives stares hard, trying to think about where to go tomorrow, before he realizes he's running. He's running from a disgusting human. A weak, pathetic, crying _child_.  
  
Legato was fucking irreplaceable.  
  
The thought breaks up into a thousand pieces, sad and small, but not painful anymore. The tight constriction that had for a second overcome him is gone. Knives feels a little empty, a little sad, but better. He realizes he can say it now, the thing that he had only ever associated with Vash, that painful, good thing that Rem had kept talking and talking about.  
  
_Legato is...I...Legato, I..._   
_He would have been so happy to hear this...  
_  
Vash turns on his bed, beginning to wake. Knives' attention is immediately focuses, wondering if his brother should sleep more, if he's comfortable, what he dreams about. In a moment, the revelation sixty years in the making is forgotten.  
  
Later, while he's taking his turn in the shower, Knives thinks vaguely;  
_Legato was used to being easily dismissed._

**END**

A/N: And that's it. Think of it as yaoi if you like. I mostly didn't, as I don't think that if Knives was even inclined he'd ever admit it to himself (one-sided, I can accept). I think Knives changing his views would take a much longer time than 60 years, but living with humans and accepting humans are two separate things.

Just for the record, this is a sort of fairytale. Frankly I can't believe Knives will ever feel remorse, especially for Legato who will never be mentioned by anyone and had made it perfectly clear that he felt it was an honor to die for Knives. That's why it took me such a hassle with Wolfwood and all just to get him to think about it.

And yes, if anyone actually wanted to hear him finish saying whatever he was going to say, I'm a bitch.


End file.
